


if only

by supcl4ra (klari19)



Category: Haikyuu!!, The Road - Cormac McCarthy
Genre: 3-act structure, Amnesia, Blood, Character Death, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Serious Injuries, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy, Violence, dehumanized character, depression symptoms, knife injuries, mentions of cannibalism, panic attack during nightmare, past schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klari19/pseuds/supcl4ra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is dead, or so the young man thinks as he is about to throw himself off a cliff. The world is dead, and he’ll never be able to see the sun again... or so he thinks, just as a man with golden eyes like the sun, and grayish hair like the clouds, appears into his life. (BokuAka in a Post-apocalyptic/The Road AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I - Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> A really big shoutout to my best friend and amazing beta [onlyslash](http://onlyslash.tumblr.com). I love you and thanks for helping me out with this, you're the fucking best <3 
> 
> Um, now. How do I explain this. //clears throat. Okay so, do you know about 3-act theatrical plays? The symbolism of the day? Add that to BokuAka + The Road AU and... well... see what you get.
> 
> Ps. You don't need to read/watch The Road to understand what I'm talking about in the fic, everything is explained, and you can even think about it as a "regular" post-apocalyptic AU, if that's easier for you. I hope you... enjoy reading this //sweats

 

_What’s worth living for…_

_In a world where nothing is alive anymore…_

_?_

 

“Nothing.” The young man murmured softly. His voice, only a whisper –as if not to disturb the quiet of the gray world at dawn–, bounced lightly against the trunks of the dead trees surrounding him, leaping then into the void he stood in front of. “Nothing is worth living for anymore.”

He looked far ahead of him, his eyes lingering onto the almost indiscernible line of the horizon, right where it seemed as if the water met the sky, both of them equally gray. It was the same panorama every day. Every day, ever since the catastrophe had happened.

No one knew how or why it had happened. All that remained were memories of a great fire to which the majority of the human population, and the entire flora and fauna of the planet, had succumbed, leaving the world empty, dark… dead.

But none of that mattered now. If the world had burned away, so be it, the people who survived had to find new ways to keep on living without electricity or running water, and with poor to non-existent food reserves. They’d found their ways, though.

But after all was said and done, was it worth struggling every day to survive in a world that had no future? Was it worth it, to live permanently in an empty and sorrowful state of mind? Was it worth looking for any kind of salvation, now that they were sure that, if there were any Gods above, they were only meant to punish them?

The answer was very simple for him.

He couldn’t remember for how long he’d strived, clinging to his life by a thin thread, feeling as if he was sinking deeper and deeper into a puddle of dark mud that seemed to absorb him, slowly losing his emotions, his morals, his faith… _his humanity_.

In the first stages of starvation he’d eaten dirt.

When he’d been taken over by a maddening desperation… he’d come to know the taste of human flesh.

He’d never forget how euphoric he felt when he had put down the owner of his meal in a single heavy blow to the back of the head. He’d never forget the pure lust that had invaded his brain when he’d bitten into it, the salty-tasting and iron-smelling red fluids filling his mouth quickly and overflowing onto his chin, neck, chest… He’d never forget the horror he’d felt when he’d realized what he’d done, starving himself for what seemed like weeks –although it was hard to know for sure, since time was no longer counted, all electrical and battery-powered gadgets having stopped working on the day of the catastrophe– and going back to eating dirt when he couldn’t take the hunger anymore.

He wasn’t human anymore. He was just a walking and breathing vacant shell shaped like a human, held together by the strands of the savagery he’d seen and experienced, and the weight of a dead world upon his shoulders.

He’d walked for a long time on the dark and empty road that led south of the country, each step feeling as if he left a portion of himself behind, and he’d decided his exhausting route ended there, on that cliff.

He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the ocean –an aroma that he remembered to have been pleasant in the previous world, a world that no longer was. He took a step closer, eyeing the bottom of the precipice below him where enormous waves crashed with a thunderous roar against gigantic rocks protruding from the depths of the water. A bitter smile cracked his lips; if he failed, it would hurt more than necessary.

He lifted his head up to gaze to the sky, heavy with everlasting gray clouds and looking especially dark in the time when the night was slowly fading into nothingness. If he’d been asked what he wished for in that moment, he’d answer that he would have wished to see the sun, just one last time. Just once… Nevertheless, he closed his eyes.

Strangely, he felt peaceful. He always thought that in a moment like that he would feel anxious, his heartbeat getting quicker and tears surging to the corners of his eyes, but none of that happened. He was empty, his mind was blank, he felt neither hot nor cold; he felt right.

His heels slowly left the ground as he lightly pushed his whole weight to his toes, ready to relay the rest of the work to gravity…

“What the fuck are you doing?!” A shout broke through the air. He didn’t register the sound, his brain having turned to _off_ a long time ago.

And the he flew… backwards.

He landed on something rather soft, far from what he had expected to feel. Curled up around him were arms, gripping him with mighty strength, as if they wanted to crush him –although maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. He could feel the hasty pump of a rushed heart against his back, as well as heavy breaths brushing his ear and hair. His eyes were still closed, but he knew very well what had prevented his greatly desired fall.

He gazed at the dark clouds, gathering what little amount of energy and willpower was left within himself to turn around and land a blind punch onto the face of the intruder. He was rewarded with a loud groan, as well as a slight loosening of the arms circled around him. He took that chance to free himself and get up, turning toward the edge of the cliff once more. He had been dragged back a little, but he could still make it before the other recovered from the punch… or so he thought.

Strong fingers curled around his ankle, and he fell once more, face landing heavily against the dry earth and making him see stars for a few seconds. In one motion, he rolled onto his back and propelled his other foot toward the stranger, aiming for his head once more. This time, he was stopped right before he could place a hit, the man’s other hand gripping the moving ankle and pressing it against the ground as he crawled on top of him. Before he could register what the stranger was doing, the man had already climbed atop him, his entire weight pushing his chest down onto the ground as he straddled him, imprisoning one of his arms under a bent leg, and clenching his other hand between the two of his.

He wiggled underneath the man, pulling his arms as strong as he could to try and free them, pushing his knees up to try and hit his back –all in vain.

“Stop!”

He froze, the stranger’s voice rumbling powerfully into his chest. For the first time since the beginning of the encounter, he looked at his opponent. He had golden eyes –pupils blown wide by the rush of adrenaline–, rather pale skin, chapped lips –parted slightly to let out heavy pants–, and messy grey hair with dark streaks here and there. It suddenly struck to him that the man above him looked like an owl –a slightly agitated one, but an owl nonetheless–, and he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that his brain was feeding him completely useless info at a time like that.

“What the fuck… haa… were you thinking…” Warm air brushed his skin as the man spoke while leaning closer to his face, stopping his sentence mid-way to let out a heavy and exhausted breath. He blinked once, twice… three times before understanding what the man’s words meant. The answer seemed pretty obvious to him, although probably not everyone thought like him.

“I asked you– what were you th—”

“Why…” He began, falling into a coughing fit as soon as his vocal chords started vibrating. His voice sounded croaky and his throat was dry. He hadn’t spoken up, if not in whispers, in… how long? He couldn’t remember anymore. And the last time he’d come by a river and drank fresh water dated back to at least a few days. He gasped, pulling hard at his arms for he felt like his throat was splitting in two. The owl-like man realized, secured the arm he held into his hands underneath his other leg and quickly unclasped a bottle from his belt. His head was slightly lifted from the ground, and a cool liquid filled his mouth instantly. He swallowed like he’d never drunk anything before –he was desperate–, which caused some of the liquid to intrude into his lungs, making him cough once more, and then the bottle was gone from his lips. He sucked in heavy breaths. “Why… are you doing this… Why did you stop me…”

Silence hung heavy atop them for a few moments. He saw the man above him knit his eyebrows and lower his eyes, as if he, himself, were unsure of why he had done all of that. And yet… soon, a soft chuckle left the man’s lips and he looked up, a sad smile parting his lips as he spoke. “Because I still have faith.”

“In what?”

“I don’t know.”

That didn’t make sense.

“I know it doesn’t make sense, I know that.” He spoke as if he’d read his thoughts. “But I still believe that there will be a reward for the ones that have survived until now. I still believe there’s something, anything, at the end of the road. Maybe the sky is brighter in the south, maybe there are still plants and animals down there, maybe there’s a future for all of us in there.”

That… didn’t make sense at all. There was nothing nowhere anymore. Eternal doom had fallen atop them as soon as the fire had started, and maybe even before that.

“There’s nothing left to live for.” He spoke flatly, as if it were the most obvious truth that existed.

“You seem very sure of that. Why do you think that?” The stranger inquired, his eyebrow cocking up, looking like an additional interrogation point.

“Look around you. There’s nothing left.”

“Well, maybe you’re seeing something different than me…”

“Uh…?”

Was the guy loosing his mind or what?

“I see trees, dead and sad, yes, but still, trees that could maybe grow leaves once more in the future. Plus, the dry wood I’m provided with helps me light up fires to cook and keep myself warm. I see the sea, angry and cold, but it’s kept me alive by providing me water I can boil and then drink. And I can even dive into it once in a while to clean myself, even though the water’s freezing most of the time. I see the sky, dark and heavy, but it’s the proof that there’s still a sun and a moon up there, for it tends to light up slightly every once in a while. If I could look behind us, I could also see my tent, and I know it’s not the best one out here, but it’s kept me warm and protected all this time.” The stranger spoke with his eyes turned to the horizon the whole time, looking as if his mind was far away from where they were. When he finished, he looked back down to the man he had tackled on the ground. “That’s what I see. And that’s what I believe in.”

He looked into those yellow irises, golden and bright, just like the sun… Just like the sun he’d wanted to see moments before, and he felt warmth spread through his chest in spite of himself. He gulped down, falling short of breath and feeling suddenly lightheaded –because of the hunger, or because he was starting to understand things without really grasping them? he didn’t know. He felt as if his entire existence had been turned upside down; every thought, every sight, everything he’d felt… it now had a different meaning, all because of a few words spoken by a stranger…

It didn’t make sense.

The man spoke up suddenly, breaking his erratic train of thought. “Hey… your eyes are grayish green, aren’t they?” Were they? He couldn’t remember. “It’s a pretty color.”

An honest smile, yellowing teeth appearing behind crusty lips. When was the last time he’d seen someone smile genuinely like that? He couldn’t remember. The warmth in his chest spread further, deeper, and he was still unsure of the reason why it had even started.

A sigh. “I’ve done everything I could… If you still want to jump, I don’t know what else I could tell you, except that I don’t want you to do it.” The strange man murmured softly, clenching his molars, his features falling into a sad expression.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to believe.

The man pressing him down on the ground now seemed like the sun he’d longed to see everyday since the sky had turned gray and heavy and sad. He seemed like a warm and protecting sun rising from the east, announcing the start of something new… a new day, maybe, probably, surely…

Or a new life.

He realized his mouth was open when it started to feel dry once more. He closed his lips and gulped down with difficulty, the tried to normalize his breathing. Looking up into the other man’s bright and expecting eyes, he nodded slowly, hoping that the man would understand. And he could _feel_ the moment when the stranger felt relief wash into himself, the tension in the legs which kept him imprisoned onto the hard ground fading a little. Then he saw a small smile pulling up the corners of the man’s lips as his eyebrows unclenched and he let out a heavy breath. Was that the human representation of faith? Maybe, he wasn’t sure.

The silence between them persisted for a while, the dark clouds gaining lighter tones of gray as dawn let place to morning, and the stranger finally spoke up again.

“I’m Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou.” He spoke up. “And… I should probably get up and stop crushing your chest and arms.” The man whispered, hurriedly pushing himself up onto his legs.

He only felt a slight pain when he actually realized that the weight he’d carried until then might have been heavy on his bones, but it was minimal; he’d been through worse.

He’d been through worse… The thought made him want to crack a small smile without really knowing why.

Looking up again, he saw a hand stretched out in front of him. He took it, noticing at the same time that his own were slightly shaking. Warmth curled around his fingers, and he was lifted up and brought back onto his feet in a split second, as if he weighed nothing –which was probably not too far away from the real thing. He saw the stranger –no, Bokuto– clench his molars once more, probably realizing the same thing as he had, but the owl-like man’s lips stayed shut and he made no comment about it.

“So. What’s your name?” Bokuto inquired, releasing their hands, casually leaning against the dark trunk of a dead tree, and crossing his arms onto his chest.

His… name? What was his name…? Could he remember it?

“It’s…” He began, gulping down heavily as panic rose into his throat. If he couldn’t remember his name, then that meant… “I’m—” He struggled, his hands sweaty as he twisted them.

Ending his own life had never seemed as scary as forgetting his own name. He closed his eyes tightly, his heartbeat hammering into his ears, and his breath turning hasty and erratic.

“Hey…” A soft murmur, soft steps approaching him. “It’s ok…”

 _I’m still human I’m still human I’m still human._ The thought bounced against the inside of his skull, making his head hurt and tainting his vision black, as if he’d turned completely blind. He didn’t realize he was whispering the words out loud, he didn’t realize he was aggressively pulling at his hair, he didn’t realize he’d bitten so hard onto his lip that it’d started bleeding. And it took him a while to understand that the warmth that now enveloped him came from Bokuto’s body pressed against him in a tight embrace; it wasn’t a preventative grip like before, but a comforting hug.

“It’s all good…” Bokuto whispered, his mouth pressed onto his hair, breathing softly into it as he slowly rubbed a hand over the young man’s back. “Don’t push yourself… You’re still human and I believe in you.”

He gasped for air, feeling like he was drowning inside, and he clenched Bokuto’s jacket tightly in his fists, feeling as if the ground would open up beneath him and that Bokuto was his only remaining support. He could hear the other one murmuring softly into his ear, whispering words with the intent of calming him and comforting him, and somehow, those soft whispers managed to eventually make him come back to what was real and tangible and okay. He sucked in long and heavy breaths as Bokuto instructed him, releasing them in a shiver when the man’s countdown hit zero. Somewhere along the way, his vision had cleared, and although his limbs felt as cold as ice, the warmth emanating from Bokuto’s body and words felt soothing to his body, his mind… and his heart.

“Shh… Shh…” Bokuto hushed softly, and the young man finally released his jacket from his grip, going boneless into Bokuto’s arms as he felt his mind shut down completely. “Oopsie. Alright, I’ve got you.” He heard him murmur, feeling him adjust his grasp around his shoulders to prevent him from collapsing onto the cold, hard ground.

In a state of bare consciousness, he hardly registered Bokuto slipping an arm behind his knees and lifting him up into his arms. He walked slowly, yet his steps were determined, a feeling reinforced by the sound of his voice flowing into the other man’s ears. He spoke words the young man couldn’t remember when he’d heard last.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”


	2. Act II - Noon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has come to understand certain things about himself. He no longer feels as cold as he used to... It feels good, being close to Bokuto. It feels good, being embraced by that caring and gentle aura of his. It feels good, opening up his heart to him. It feels good, sharing his food. It feels good... until...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to my wonderful beta, [Onsla.](http://onlyslash.tumblr.com)  
> Alright now, um... //starts the countdown and prays  
> I hope you enjoy reading this <3

Black. Everything around him was black. And yet, at the same time, he could see everything by its outlines and shapes. The space in which he stood was quickly constricting around him, and he thought he’d be crushed by the emptiness of it when everything stopped moving. High black walls imprisoned him now. He stood at the very bottom of an empty well, and when he looked up… there was a small circle of light –no bigger than the size of his bitten thumbnail. He looked around him and found no ladder nor steps protruding from the walls, nothing that could get him to the light above. He sat down on the black ground, not knowing what to do.

He didn’t know how long he’d spent sitting there, in complete silence, empty of thoughts, before he decided to look up once more. The light was still there, as if it was waiting for him to ascend. He got up on his feet and neared the wall circled around him. He reached his hand toward the hard surface, and when his skin came in contact with it, a small opening formed itself into the wall. He pulled his hand back quickly, feeling as if the wall was going to eat his hand, and stared, long and hesitant, at the surface in front of him.

His hand and feet moved on their own, approaching the wall slowly, and as they neared it the same openings appeared. He placed his feet and a hand into them, motioning the other further up to reach higher and start climbing. He advanced slowly and laboriously, yet soundly, toward the top of the well. At first it seemed like the size of the opening above his head stayed constant, and he felt slightly frightened at the thought that he might not be advancing at all, or even that as he climbed up, the walls of the well grew higher and higher. Eventually the circle of light began to grow bigger above him, and he breathed out with relief.

He was just meters away from reaching the edge of the well when he saw the flames. Bright and burning, they devoured everything on sight. He felt immensely scared, his stomach clenching inside, and he felt himself shrink down right where he was hanging from the wall. He didn’t want to see the world burning again. He didn’t want to feel the pain once more. He didn’t want to hear the screams that were already imprinted in his memory… He wanted to go back down, to the empty, dark and peaceful bottom of the well.

As he started to move his feet back down, he heard something that stilled him. Someone was calling him from above. They were calling him by his name, but he couldn’t understand it; his mind couldn’t register the sounds, he just _knew_ that he was being called by name. Who might be calling him? His… family? But were they– weren’t they…? He looked up, not knowing what he might find when his gaze went past the dark ring and into the blinding light, and what he saw… almost made him lose his grip on the wall.

Eyes bright like the sun, wild silver-black hair, and a wide smile. He knew this man… but he couldn’t remember why, from where, nor what his name was. The man’s mouth moved in slow motion as he reached a hand toward him, opening it up, inviting him to grab it. He approached his own, but before he could grab the man’s hand, he was hit by a burning heat on his skin, and he removed his hand as quickly as possible.

He looked to the man and shook his head; he couldn’t go up or else he’d burn away to ashes in an instant. The man’s smile only grew wider, gentler, and he opened and closed his fingers, prompting him to come up as his moving mouth spoke soundless words. He couldn’t hear what the man was telling him, but he somehow felt it was important, and he pulled his hand up once more. The soaring heat made his skin feel like it was on fire… until his fingers touched the man’s own.

A comfortable warmth spread through his body, blooming from the place where his skin was in contact with the other man. The torturing heat on his skin had been replaced by a much more pleasant one. He looked to the man, eyes open wide in surprise, and the man answered with a smile and a movement of his head which said “come up, let’s go.” There was nothing to worry about; he had been put under something similar to a protective spell, and that meant that if he walked out of the well he wouldn’t get burned anymore. All thanks to the man above him…

And yet… As he started to move his limbs, the holes in the wall disappeared, pushing his feet and hand out of it. He desperately tried to grasp any edges of the wall, but its surface had become perfectly smooth once more. He looked up to the man, the terror he felt inside mirrored in the man’s now twisted features. He looked at his hand which had suddenly turned sweaty and was slowly slipping out of the man’s strong clasp. He tried moving his other hand up, but it had apparently decided to lay limp on his side, seeming to have accepted the fate of the body it was attached to. He stretched his mouth wide open, a bloodcurdling scream escaping for the depths of his insides.

“Hey! Hey!” A voice, muffled and distant. “You need to wake up!” A stinging on his cheek followed suit.

His eyes shot wide open, and only then did he realize he’d been screaming and convulsing in his sleep. He panted, trying to remember what his dream had been about and why it had shaken him up to that point, but he couldn’t catch a single glimpse of it from his memory.

“Hey.”

He looked up to the owner of the voice sitting beside him. There was a profound crease between his knitted eyebrows, and underneath those were… those golden eyes. He felt… like he’d seen them somewhere… And it was strange… Nonetheless, he felt a breath of relief escape heavily through his lips as soon as he’d locked his eyes with the man’s. Not the man’s…

“Boku–to…” He whispered through receding gasps.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Bokuto replied, his shoulders drooping slightly, and his visage turning a little less worried as he leaned closer to him. “You slept soundly until around midday –well, I guess it’s midday, because of the lighting outside, you know–, and then you started squirming and gasping a little while ago, and then came the screams… You gave me a big fright, heh.” A small concerned smile parted his lips when he finished speaking.

“Sorry…”

“No need to apologize.” Bokuto said, shaking his head slightly. “It wasn’t your fault. It was probably a nightmare or something…”

He gulped down and nodded. “I– I think it was a nightmare… but I can’t remember anything about it.”

Bokuto looked down at him with a cocked eyebrow and his head tipped to the side; he looked like a confused owl, or at least what he imagined a confused owl to look like… “That’s strange, isn’t it?”

“It is…” He murmured in reply, closing his eyes and focusing on steadying his breathing once and for all.

In that moment he noticed… warmth. On his hand. He opened his eyes and looked down to find his hand clasped between Bokuto’s. It was a comforting touch, but for some reason it also brought him sadness, and he couldn’t quite understand why.

Bokuto looked down at the same time, his fair skin flushing a pale pink as he did. “I’m sorry! I thought it would help you while you were unconscious and struggling.” Bokuto tried removing his hands in a hasty motion, but he stopped the owl-like man from doing so by gripping him tighter between his fingers.

“It’s okay.” He whispered, the comforting touch feeling pleasant on his skin.

Bokuto looked down at him, the agitation he seemed to be experiencing not quite leaving his features as a quiet smile cracked his lips. “Alright.”

They fell quiet, and he took the chance to glance at and feel out his surroundings. First, he noticed he was lying on a thin but slightly padded layer of fabric –a worn-out and old-looking sleeping bag. Bokuto had apparently tucked him inside of it while he was unconscious, and he had undone most of it with his thrashing. He brought a hand down to pull the fabric closer to his chest and exhaled softly as a light warmth enveloped him. Then, he looked above himself and saw the ceiling of a small tent. He vaguely remembered Bokuto telling him he had a tent around the place where they’d– “met”… Just like the fabric of the sleeping bag, the one which composed the tent looked quite old and deteriorated in some places, the flaps of it’s entrance only held closed by what little Velcro remained on them. And yet, he realized what Bokuto had said was true –it was better than nothing. Next to him, opposite from Bokuto’s sitting place, lay an enormous backpack. He didn’t ask anything about it. Aside from that, there was nothing else on the ground, save for a tin bowl and Bokuto’s shabby shoes, and his own destroyed ones.

It seemed to him that Bokuto had almost everything to live a good sedentary life, at least for a while, and he wondered if the owl-like man had stopped travelling on the road to “take roots” in this forgotten dry land facing the ocean.

“You’re probably wondering if I’ve stopped moving.” Bokuto spoke softly, looking into his eyes as if he could read his very thoughts in them. “Remember what I told you… I still have hope that there’s something south. That’s why I’m packing everything up tonight and leaving this place.” Bokuto stopped, biting his lower lip and looking at their linked hands before gazing to him once more. “Will you come with me?”

He realized he’d been holding in a breath when he exhaled heavily, his chest dropping, and feeling himself sinking deeper into the sleeping bag. He also realized that his grip around one of Bokuto’s hands had tightened incredibly; he relaxed his hand immediately.

“I’d– I’d understand if you want to– stay.” Bokuto murmured, seeming to struggle with words as his hands twitched a little, looking like he wanted to rub his hands over the other’s skin, but feeling it was a rather off-limits thing to do. Instead, he focused his golden orbs on the other’s green-grey ones. “Don’t feel pressured to answer me right now but…”

Did he want to go with Bokuto? Was he ready to retake the journey he’d decided to cut short that same morning, but accompanied by someone else this time? Was he ready to travel with someone he'd met less than a few hours ago? Moreover, wouldn’t he end up being a burden to Bokuto, who seemed to be in much better shape than he was?

And so… did he want to stay? If he stayed… Was he ready to starve himself to death, or even jump off that cliff, for the sake of escaping the nightmare of a world turned to ashes? Was he ready to—

“Like I said…”

No. Something had changed. Something would prevent him from ending his life even if he decided to stay, and he wasn’t sure what it was… He looked into Bokuto’s eyes, almost feeling himself be enveloped by a thick mantle of warmth emanating from those bright gold irises. Those eyes… That smile… That voice…

All those little things had changed something deep inside himself.

They had renewed his hope.

In that moment he realized that as soon as his eyes had landed on Bokuto’s face, the world had turned from being dark and grey to something a little less sad, a little brighter. Bokuto had lit up –ever so slightly– his endless night. Bokuto seemed to have become…

“You can also st—”

“No.”

Bokuto’s lips opened, then closed, then opened once more. His eyebrows pushed higher than he ever thought they could as Bokuto’s jaw fell wide open, a myriad of emotions rushing through his features at high speed –joy, confusion, euphoria, and more confusion.

“Are you– okay?” He was a little frightened that he had somehow broken the owl-like man. “Bokuto…san…?”

Bokuto’s eyes seemed as if they were going to pop out of their sockets, his mouth still forming a wide ‘O.’ It took the man a few moments to regain his composure, and the other waited patiently until he was able to speak again.

“First of all… No need for any formalities. You can call me Bokuto or Koutarou or whatever you want.” He spoke, releasing one of his hands from around the other man’s and lifting his index finger up in the air.

“O-kay… Bokuto…” He murmured softly. The fact that he couldn’t remember his own name hit him again, and he shifted a little into the sleeping bag. Bokuto seemed to have remembered too, for he started humming uncomfortably as his hand fell to his lap once more, maybe blaming himself for having said something that went over the edge of what was acceptable –which he hadn’t done, not really. He decided it wasn’t worth to stretch the awkwardness. “You said ‘first of all’, which means there’s more…”

“Oh, yes!” Bokuto spoke, his head shooting up in a swift motion, trying to hide away the slight guilt he felt, but the young man could see it linger in the shade of his eyes. “Second of all… I’m glad you’re coming– with me. I’m happy.” Bokuto’s lips parted in a wide smile, and he felt a small smile tug at the corners of his lips, for he was glad about his decision too. “And now… third of all…” Bokuto murmured as he leaned over him and buried his hand into the backpack. He was about to ask what it contained when Bokuto extracted a small can – _beans_. Mashed beans, it should be said.

His heartbeat accelerated in half a second, and he felt himself stop breathing as he eyed the can hovering above him, secured into Bokuto’s hands.

“Ya hungry?”

Saliva flooded his mouth, and he gulped it down quickly. He realized he was hungry indeed –very hungry. When was the last time he’d… eaten? When was the last time he’d seen canned food? Where had Bokuto found it? How had he—

“I’m guessing your silence means ‘yes’?” The gray-haired man smiled.

He nodded slowly, trying not to look too desperate, but he felt he’d somehow been discovered. Soon, Bokuto’s hand was gone from around his, leaving his skin cold and… somehow wanting. He desired the contact, its warmth and comfort, but he couldn’t make such a blunt request to a still-sort-of stranger. Instead, he intertwined his own fingers, trying to keep them slightly heated up. Bokuto put the can aside and placed a wide metallic bowl in the center of the tent, right under the highest point to which the fabric rose. He saw him withdraw two rocks from his jacket pocket and hit them together inside the bowl. No way… Was he…?

“Bokuto…? Don’t tell me those are…” He trailed away, hearing a hint of fear rise into the tone of his own voice.

“Quartz rocks? For fire? Yeah.” Bokuto spoke, seeming as calm as ever, never taking his eyes away from his hands inside the bowl.

He rose his upper body on his elbows and looked inside the bowl –it contained dry wood.

“But–”

“Nothing to worry, I’m good at this.” Bokuto smiled, his eyes becoming tiny slits. “But really, there’s no other way to do it. There’s too much wind outside to keep the fire in a single place, and– Oh.” His hands stopped moving and he looked back to him, profound realization pulling down on his features. “Is it– The fire…?”

He wasn’t sure why he was reacting like that, but he knew that he couldn’t stand fire at all. Maybe… the devastating fire he’d lived through had gotten him traumatized. He saw Bokuto exhale and nod, understanding the situation.

“Alright. I’m not going to force anything on you that you’re not okay with, so we’ll eat cold.” Bokuto spoke softly, putting the tin bowl away.

He felt embarrassed, but Bokuto’s reaction also made him feel comfortable… He was being… good. He was good. To him. When had anyone been good to him for the last time? He couldn’t remember.

As he tried to remember things that had long vanished from his memory like smoke in the air, Bokuto grabbed a can opener in one hand, and the canned beans in the other. Slowly, carefully, treating it as if it were something precious –and it was indeed– he opened the can. Surprisingly, the scent that rose from the tin can wasn’t one of rotting food, as it would probably be expected of anything after… a long time of storage. No… the scent that invaded the tent was one that brought him back to memory lane –or at least what was left of it–, to warm summer evenings spent along with his family and friends, eating whatever food they found in the kitchen –mashed beans and saltine crackers– because they were too lazy to cook. And even though it was fast and cheap, it was always good food, eaten along with good company, during good times. He realized he’d closed his eyes when Bokuto’s voice snapped him back into reality.

“Here.” Bokuto said, offering a small plate to him. Bokuto was holding the can in his hand, and even though he couldn’t see the contents that remained in it, he was positive that Bokuto had given more than half of them to him. Bokuto was being too considerate to him, but could he refuse? An image of Bokuto gazing at him with incredulous eyes rose in his mind, even though he’d never actually seen him pull out a face like that, and he decided not to go against the owl-like man’s decision.

He sat up and took the plate with slightly shaking hands. “Thanks.” He mumbled before dipping a finger into the dark and overly appetizing paste.

He breathed in heavily. This was the first actual, real food he had come across in… in a long time. He thought about his previous “meals” and shivered. The finger he’d dipped into the mashed beans stood still, inches away from his lips, and he could feel Bokuto’s stare on the side of his face, awaiting, expecting… slightly nervous. He slowly approached the digit to his mouth, parting his lips just enough to let it in, and gently pressing it against his tongue.

“Mmfff!” He _sobbed_. Tears pooled in the corners of his now closed eyes as the delicious and salty bean paste spread all over his tongue, all over his mouth. He gripped his own hand tightly, keeping it in place as he swirled his tongue around his fingers, sucking every last aroma and taste from them. He exhaled around his fingers, feeling saliva drip down his chin and hand –he didn’t care in the least. He opened his eyes once more, and practically dug his hand into the contents of his plate. He ingested hastily, furiously… lapping his plate clean when there was nothing left to pick up with his trembling fingers.

Bokuto cleared his throat softly, his hand curled into a loose fist in front of his mouth. He quickly turned to look at the gray-haired man, who had put down his own part of the share, all the blood draining from his face when he realized the situation, what he’d just done, what he’d probably looked like.

“I—” He began, then stopped when Bokuto closed his eyes and shook his head lightly.

“You don’t need to explain anything if you don’t want to.” His tone was soft and comforting, like a warm blanket pulled over the other man’s shoulders.

The young man took in a shaky breath while wiping the drool and tears off his face, afterwards cleaning his hands on his vest. He nodded weakly and hung his head, fists clenched tightly and lying by his sides. He was shaking all over, he realized it, but it also felt like a faraway feeling, as if it weren’t his body experiencing it. Bokuto scooted over toward him, quietly placing his own can –its contents barely touched– onto the other’s lap. He lifted his head and gazed into the owl-like man’s eyes, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“No, it’s yours.” His voice was merely a breath.

Bokuto, without speaking a word, took one of the man’s hands into his own –the contact made it relax instantly– and wrapped it around the can. “I think you need it much more than I do.”

He wanted to resist, but he couldn’t. There was nothing left inside of him to go against Bokuto’s thoughtful offer.

 _Honest, faithful, caring, selfless, generous_ … unconsciously, he had started raising a mental list of Bokuto’s most striking qualities. More words were added to it with each and every one of the owl-like man’s actions toward him.

“Thank you, Bokuto.” He whispered. Those words didn’t express how grateful he felt toward the man, but he couldn’t find anything better. Bokuto probably understood, for he saw him smile gently, his eyes closing as he bowed his head a little.

He gripped the can tightly in his hand and dipped his finger inside it, slower this time, because he was more conscious of his actions, and because the metal container bore a sharp and cutting edge inside of it. He ate in silence, focusing solely on the taste of the food, listening to the faint sound of Bokuto breathing next to him. When he was finished, he put down the can on the ground next to him and exhaled. He felt… content. And it was all thanks to this caring man sitting next to him, twiddling his thumbs to distract himself in the silent atmosphere.

“It’s been so long…” He trailed off, his voice as light as a feather. Bokuto’s hands stopped moving, and the gray-haired man lifted his face to look at him, although his own eyes were still directed toward the floor. Bokuto remained quiet, giving him all the time he needed to collect his thoughts and speak up once again. He shifted a little where he sat, not knowing why he absolutely wanted to tell this stranger the deepest secrets he held inside his tired mind. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen real food. I think the last time I ate something remotely close to this was the day before the catastrophe happened. When everything was good and normal and peaceful…” He trailed off, losing his train of thought for a few seconds, then continuing. “After– the fire…” He paused, cleared his throat. “After that, I wandered on the road south without being able to find anything edible anywhere… All the supermarkets and shopping marts on my path had already been shoplifted, sacked until their darkest corners… I ate– dirt first and then– hnn… ngh… haa…”

Bokuto’s soothing touch on his hand made him realize he had brought his fingers to his own mouth, that he was pressing them tightly against his lips, wheezing heavily on them. His head buzzed when he looked into Bokuto’s eyes, finding there a look of… something he never thought he’d get from anyone. It wasn’t pity. No, far from that. Bokuto’s eyes glowed bright with sympathy toward a man whose sins transcended the boundaries of human morals. His mind caught on the fact that Bokuto’s skin felt good on his own… so good…

“Your hands are cold…” A whisper, and then the owl man enclosed the freezing skin into a warm clasp, rubbing the ice-cold palms with soothing and comforting fingers.

Quietness accompanied Bokuto’s gesture, and both of them let it stretch voluntarily. He took note of the roughness of Bokuto’s skin, and yet, his hands moved softly, ever so gently over his own. He saw the scars –trophies or punishments? He didn’t know and didn’t ask– decorating the back of his hands; some were long and thick, others were only slightly wider than a hair, and all of them seemed to continue beyond his sleeve hems. He observed his incredible paleness –but then again, who could preserve their tone when the sky had been permanently sealed off by a thick mantle of clouds ever since the fire had happened? He also noticed that two fingers of the man’s right hand were a little crooked…

“Bokuto… What happened to your fingers?” The words left his lips without having been processed by his brain first, and he immediately regretted asking the intrusive question. “I– apologize. You don’t need to answer that.” The words slipped out of his mouth in a hurry.

Bokuto brushed it off with a soft exhale. “Don’t sweat it. I acquired both injuries on the day of the catastrophe. Our house fell down on us, almost crushing me underneath the debris. I managed to get out after long hours of struggling and thinking that it was going to actually be the end of me…” He whispered, his eyes drooping. Then he lifted up his face, and then there was that smile again. “But here I am now.” He paused, then continued. “At first, when I got out, I didn’t notice that my fingers had been fractured, the adrenaline having completely shut down my pain sensors. And when I finally noticed, hours and hours later, I realized there wasn’t much left to do. All I did was clean the wounds with some medical cleaning lotion I managed to salvage from a pharmacy, and bandaged up the fingers together to let them heal as they would.”

He nodded at the declaration, the fell silent for a while. “Your– family?” He tested at last, hesitantly.

Bokuto only shook his head with a bitter smile on his lips. “Yours?”

His silence was enough of an answer, he believed, and Bokuto understood. There was nothing to be sorry about; neither of them could apologize to the other for what had happened. Things were the way they were, and the only thing they could do was look ahead of them. Those were the words transmitted through their silence and through the joining of their hands.

He was almost in trance, the endless train of his muddy thoughts having taken over his mind, when a yawn suddenly snapped him back into full conscience.

“Oh man… I didn’t think I was this tired, but I guess there’s nothing to do about it…” Bokuto spoke, throwing his arms above himself and stretching with a grunt. He took off his jacket, leaving himself with a long-sleeved black shirt, folded it, then placed it on the ground beside the sleeping bag, and rested his head over it. “C’mon, you should rest a bit more as well. We’ll leave when night has completely fallen, so gather as much energy as you can before then.”

“We’ll travel… at night?” He only now remembered that Bokuto had spoken about it before.

“Yep.”

“But… we won’t be able to see anything.” He spoke softly, confused by Bokuto’s sheer confidence.

“Have you tried it before?” Silence. Bokuto smiled. “I have. Your eyes will quickly become accustomed to the darkness, you’ll see. It’ll also be much less dangerous to travel at night.” Bokuto stopped, seeming as if that was the end of it, and he frowned at the silver-haired man, confused by his assertion. The man then questioned him. “Do you think you’re the only one who didn’t dare travelling at night because they thought they wouldn’t be able to see?”

He tilted his head, about to say something, but he realized that Bokuto was probably saying the truth.

Bokuto winked at him. “I was curious and it payed off well.”

“So you’re saying me and the other people out there aren’t curious?”

“No. I’m saying they’re afraid, and for that reason they have stopped being curious.”

“And– you’re not afraid?”

“I am.” Bokuto deadpanned. “I’m terribly afraid, but I still believe there will be a tomorrow.”

He felt his mouth go dry as he realized no argument of his would be able to take down Bokuto’s. Because Bokuto was right, because Bokuto’s fear had made him smart, because Bokuto, with his crooked fingers and deep scars and broken smile, had become a living pillar of hope to sustain not only his own future, but the entire world’s too.

He fell short of breath for a while. He looked at the owl-like man lying beside him as he leaned back into the covers once more. The man had closed his eyes and was breathing slowly, strands of silver and black hair falling loosely over his forehead, his ears, his folded jacket… He looked peaceful, as if the world outside was a big lie and the truth of life resided there, inside that old small tent, and beside an utter stranger who couldn’t even remember his own name. Maybe that was his strength, maybe that was what had allowed him to become as strong-willed as he was, maybe that was why—

“Sleep. Stop thinking. Give yourself a break, please.” Soft, pleading words murmured in a voice heavy with slumber. It was as if Bokuto could hear him thinking.

He obliged and closed his eyes too, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Too many things had happened in such short time. It seemed as if the event from that same morning had happened long ago, and that he’d been talking with Bokuto for days… He knew so little about the man sleeping beside him, and yet it seemed as if he’d known him his entire life and more. And it was utterly confusing, because it felt as if he knew Bokuto better than he knew himself. His name, the faces of his family, of his friends, most of the moments he’d lived with them… he’d forgotten almost everything. He knew there had been something before the catastrophe –blurry memories told him so–, but now most of it had burned away from his decaying mind. Bokuto… would Bokuto be able to help him get his memories back? Or at least part of them? And his name…? He clutched his chest tightly, a strange cold warmth blooming in his chest and spreading through his limbs, numbing his brain and paralyzing his thoughts. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t pleasant either, and he didn’t recognize the foreign feeling. With furrowed brows, he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding back and made up his mind.

He needed fresh air. If he went outside for just a little while he’d be able to clear his thoughts, and when he came back maybe he’d be able to sleep for a while. He checked on Bokuto once more; the owl-like man seemed to be sound asleep, almost imperceptible snores slipping from between his slightly parted lips. He decided it was a safe moment for him to slip away, and slowly exited the borrowed sleeping bag.

As he silently approached the entrance of the tent, the fabric started rustling quietly. His heart jumped into his throat. All wild animals had died during the catastrophe –although he didn’t know about domesticated ones. Nevertheless, if that was a dog, it certainly had to be accompanied by—

It wasn’t a dog.

Fingers slipped through the flaps of the tent, undoing all the Velcro attachments in a swift motion. A man suddenly materialized in front of him, and both of them froze simultaneously. They faced each other, their faces barely a foot away from one another.

Three different scenarios appeared in his mind.

He could go ahead and attack the stranger, hoping to sheer luck that he would be strong enough to drive him away by himself.

He could turn around and wake Bokuto up, but he would waste precious time by doing that. And they would be at a disadvantage against the stranger, with Bokuto’s perception and reaction made slower by sleep.

Lastly, he could scream to wake Bokuto up as he engaged the stranger in a fight. If he let Bokuto awake by himself, he would have a head start against the stranger, and when Bokuto joined him, they would be able to effectively get rid of the nuisance, even if the owl-like man was still lethargic.

He had gone through all the options and made up his mind in a split second. He stepped forward, rising his fist at eye level, aiming for the man’s face. He breathed in, gathering enough air in his lungs to let out a powerful shout –which got stuck in his throat.

Something had been lodged between his ribs, and before his brain could work out what had actually happened, the intruder had quickly pulled out a bloody, rusty knife from inside his flesh. He looked from the dead eyes that faced him to the rapidly growing dark stain on his discolored light blue shirt. A hair-rising bellow broke through the air, but he didn’t catch on the fact that it been produced by the vibration of his own vocal chords. If the stranger had still wanted to step into the tent, the voice –and something else, maybe– had put him off. The stranger quickly turned on his heels –emotionless, unchanged, unhuman–, and ran away as he let the man fall to his knees while gripping his bloody chest.

A rustle, a loud voice, the shaking of his shoulder by powerful yet tender hands. He slowly looked up to a confused then quickly horrified Bokuto.

“No.” A strangled whisper. Shaky fingers gripped the now red fabric as the gray-haired man kneeled down behind the wounded one. Bokuto’s almost colorless skin was now stained bright red. “Nononono.” A breaking voice. Hands momentarily stilled by shock suddenly spurred into action. “Fuck. I n– I need to—” Bokuto stuttered out, looking back and forth. “I need to lay you down.” He figured the gray-haired man was speaking mostly to himself, trying to maintain against the panic that threatened to overtake his mind. That made him glad, for some reason. The last thing he wanted was for Bokuto’s mind to come undone and break down.

Carefully, Bokuto slipped his hands under the other’s armpits, slowly dragging him until he was lying on the makeshift bed. He registered Bokuto slipping something underneath his head –his jacket, the one he’d used as a pillow earlier. His head sank down into the smooth and still warm fabric. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips, and he reached out to place a slightly quivering hand over Bokuto’s strong and tense arm as the silver-haired man dug frantically into his backpack.

“At least… he’s gone.” A barely audible voice, a shallow breath. He tried to soothe the intense shake of Bokuto’s arm by weakly rubbing the muscle, and he was glad the owl-like man was wearing a dark shirt, for he could pretend the blood on his hand was the product of his imagination.

“Yeah. You did good.” Bokuto murmured, and his eyes glistened dangerously as he continued speaking softly, hurriedly. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”


	3. Act III - Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only he knew the way to stop Bokuto's tears from falling. If only the wound in his heart didn't hurt a thousand times more than the one in his chest. If only everything had been different...
> 
> But it isn't. He understands the painful truth, as well as many other things about himself and about Bokuto, in the last moments of his life. And he is happy.

Long hours had passed since the incident had happened, and they could sense that the sun was setting behind the heavy clouds, for the latter’s grey tones were quickly darkening as time passed. Night was slowly falling, and the warmth in the suffering man’s body slowly extinguished itself with it.

Bokuto kept on pressing shirt after shirt onto the still bleeding injury, even though they both knew it was completely useless. Akaashi tried to reason him without really exposing the painful truth, and yet Bokuto—

“Stop saying nonsense.” Bokuto’s voice was determined, yet it wavered, and the young man could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in an attempt to ease down the lump in his throat. The owl-like man’s nostrils dilated in time with his intake of quick and erratic breaths, the muscles of his cheeks shaking, and his teeth clenching.

Bokuto discarded another shirt drenched in crimson, and replaced it with a new one. He picked up a cloth from his lap and wiped the wounded man’s sweaty and impossibly pale brow. Then he took hold of his water bottle and softly pressed it to the man’s lips, tipping it ever so slowly so as not to choke him with its contents; he gulped down the fresh water flowing into his dry mouth, a shaky exhale leaving his lips when Bokuto pulled the bottle away from him.

“You should… start preparing yourself to leave.” He whispered, the simple words drawing much more energy from him than he thought they would.

“Mission aborted.” Bokuto spoke lowly, determined, and without meeting the other man’s eyes.

“Bokuto, you know I’m not going to—”

“I’m not– Ngh!” He shouted, cutting the other man’s words short. In the silence that proceeded, only Bokuto’s harsh breaths could be heard as he squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger. “I’m not letting that happen, and I’m not leaving without you.” He murmured finally, lips barely moving, a thin streak glistening onto his cheek.

It was strange… to see the strong and broad and sturdy Bokuto look this– fragile. The weakness he was showing spoke more than what thousands and thousands of words could ever express. In the short time that they’d interacted, he had come to know that Bokuto was a very gentle and caring man, but knowing that he wasn’t insensitive –as most people he’d very briefly met after the catastrophe were– somehow provoked a slight squirming inside his chest.

 _Human._ Another word was added to the list of terms that defined Bokuto.

Even as his entire body felt as if it had gone boneless, he lifted up a shaky hand and enclosed Bokuto’s tightly clasped fist into it. Bokuto finally turned to look at him, his eyes like melting gold the only thing clearly visible in the growing darkness. He pressed down on the solid hand, finding as much strength as he could in his tired limbs, and gave a gentle smile to man who was biting his own lip hard enough to make it bleed.

“Give yourself a break, please.” He echoed Bokuto’s words from hours before. The meaning behind the words was the same, but the situation in which they were spoken was different; he knew that, but he still needed to say them.

Bokuto breathed in hard, and lowered his face, fitting it into his free palm as his shoulders shook violently. He let the man cry, gently stroking his hand as hot tears fell onto the back of his own. He knew that what had happened had been nobody’s fault –only the stranger’s, and even then, the man was most probably driven by pure madness–, and yet he wanted to apologize to Bokuto. He wanted to make him feel better, to see him smile….

“Why…” A broken, breathy voice passed through the owl-like man’s quivering lips. Bokuto muttered the word over and over, softly, and mostly to himself as he rubbed his hand hard over his face.

Why, indeed.

Why had things ended up happening this way? Why had that stranger attacked when Bokuto was asleep? Why did that stranger have a knife and not a wooden stick? Why had he met Bokuto in such unfortunate circumstances that morning? Why had he chosen that precise cliff and not another? Why had Bokuto helped him through his panic attack? Why had he been at a friend’s house and not his own on the day of the catastrophe? Why… Why… Whywhywh—

Why was the world so fucked up?

Whoever held the answer to those questions had died long ago, before he and Bokuto were even born, he was positive of that. And in that case… those questions couldn’t be answered logically, therefore they weren’t worth even thinking about –that’s what he thought to himself. It wasn’t hard stopping his train of thought right there, given the muddy state his mind was in, which was caused by the excessive bleeding of his wound, but Bokuto was still to be worked with. He had to stop him from inflicting more pain to himself. He had to stop him before…

“H-hey… T-tell me sss-something no one kn-oows about y-you.”

It was only when the words left his lips that he realized he was shaking considerably, a terrible cold seeping from the inside of his bones, making his hands quiver and his teeth chatter.

“Shit.” Bokuto murmured hurriedly, quickly wiping his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “Fuck, your hand is so cold, I hadn’t realized.” His head moved from one side of the tent to the other, his gaze unfocused, his voice merely a breath. “What do I do, what do I do…”

And then his eyes set onto the wounded man’s face once more, and he crawled to set himself behind him, lifting the weightless yet heavy chest off the ground and resting it between his folded legs, against his own chest. He rested his chin atop black bangs, breathing softly into the soft strands, and wrapped his arms around the slender chest, enclosing the shivering hands in his own

Wide and good and warm. That’s how Bokuto’s body felt against his back, and how his hands felt over his own.

A small whine left his lips as Bokuto finished settling himself behind him. The man’s warmth embracing him felt so good he wanted to cry –but he couldn’t do that to Bokuto. He couldn’t do tha to himself. Instead…

“S-so… Tell me…” He trailed off, his voice cracking a little from the cold, although the latter was slowly receding thanks to Bokuto’s warm embrace.

“I– I don’t know…” Bokuto breathed out, pain dripping from his voice.

“Anything… Something r-really secret n-nobody knows about you…”

“I– I—” Bokuto stuttered, snuffling noisily as he tried gathering his thoughts. He breathed in deeply, inhaling a shaky breath, then he spoke, his voice only a whisper. “When I was a kid, I once stole an eraser from a supermarket, but then I felt bad and came back to the store to put it back. No one ever noticed and I never spoke about it.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the wounded man cracked into a small, weak laughter, but laughter nonetheless, taking Bokuto by surprise. His upper body convulsed slightly, overtaken by the movement of inhale-exhale as he laughed. He felt Bokuto slightly relax behind him, and a bitter happiness assaulted his heart. Was that small gesture giving hopes to Bokuto? He didn’t want him to hurt. He didn’t– Bokuto had to be strong, no matter what happ—

“What about you?” Bokuto asked softly, seeming to somehow have retaken control over his voice.

The jerky movements of his torso eventually came to a halt, and he coughed a little, overly exhausted from just a small laugh and the inner torture he was going through; Bokuto’s arms around him tightened a little. He fell deep in thought, trying to gather the information about who he was before and after the catastrophe, thinking about anything he had never told anyone about himself… He wasn’t one to speak much, so there had to be many possible answers to the question, but none of them came to his mind, except for—

“I had a– cat…” He began softly. Although his memory was fuzzy, he remembered that as it had been just days ago. “And he was my… best friend… for a long while. I told him everything –my joys, my frustrations, everything– and he…” He paused, guped down. “…talked to me.” Bokuto stayed silent, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over the back of his cold hands, waiting for him to continue. “He eventually died, and I came to realize, years later, that he– had never existed.” Bokuto’s chest stopped moving for a while behind him. Then, moments later, the owl-like man released a heavy breath through his nose, the air brushing the strands of hair on the top of the wounded man’s head. “I never spoke about any of that to anyone…” He finished in a murmur, his eyelids drooping a little.

A shock ran through his body and he opened his eyes wide, a terrible fear flooding his brain. He wheezed, letting his head fall onto Bokuto’s chest, and pressed himself more against him, feeling like he needed to stay close to him –to make sure that Bokuto wasn’t an illusion like his beloved cat had been.

“Shh… I’m here...” Bokuto murmured, invisible tears straining his voice once more as he gripped the wounded man tighter.

And that warm touch was enough for him to believe that Bokuto was real. That Bokuto was there, holding him, talking to him, making him feel whole again…

Making him feel truly alive.

Making him feel like there was finally something to life for.

Making him feel human once more.

He gasped heavily, every missing piece materializing itself into his mind and falling into place in a split second, living him breathless, lightheaded and slightly paralyzed. He gasped.

“Kh—”

“Hey hey, it’s okay, I’m here…” Bokuto’s words tripped over each other, panic rising in his voice.

“Kei-ji…” He finally managed in a whisper, his breath ragged. “Akaashi Keiji… That’s my– name.”

Bokuto feel completely silent for a second, then he let out a strangled sob. A breathy, crying smile ruffled Keiji’s hair. “Akaashi Keiji…” Bokuto murmured softly, the lump back into his throat. “It’s– It’s a beautiful name. And…” He trailed off, pained laughter rumbling softly into his throat and chest. “…both our names start with a ‘K’.”

Keiji smiled weakly, his entire strength mobilized to move the muscles of his face, and his head bouncing lightly against Bokuto’s chest, silently telling him that he’d heard him, but was unable to answer. Bokuto pressed his face into Keiji’s hair, shaky breaths escaping through his nose. In their pained silence, Keiji could feel his hair and scalp dampen with Bokuto’s warm tears.

“I’m glad…” Keiji began, falling short of breath for a while. “I’m glad that we met, Koutarou.”

Bokuto’s grip on his hands tightened, and the arms around Keiji’s chest tensed. “Please… Don’t– Akaashi– don’t make it sound like a– like a g-goodbye.” Bokuto spoke, his voice merely a breath, some of his words cut short by sharp intakes of air provoked by his weeping.

Keiji smiled, a pang of crude pain assaulting his chest for the first time that night. Bokuto’s words had slid slowly through his heart, like a sharp blade through tender flesh –ten, no, a thousand times more painfully than the real blade that had pierced him before. He clenched his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly and drawing in heavy breaths, the corners of his eyes stinging painfully.

“If only…” Bokuto murmured weakly behind him. “If only I hadn’t been asleep.” Keiji could hear the strain in his voice as he fought to maintain his tone even. Bokuto blamed himself for the incident, and it made Keiji’s chest ache, but he couldn’t find the strength to tell him that, no, it wasn’t his fault… “If only we could have spent more time together, in this world or another.” His voice was starting to waver, and Keiji could feel the erratic rising and falling of the chest to which his back was pressed. “If only I—” His voice broke into a sob, and he breathed hard, the arms around Keiji’s chest shaking uncontrollably. “If only I could hold you in my arms in a different way than this, Akaashi. Ngh—!”

Bokuto wailed, coughing and snuffling into Akaashi’s hair, gripping the slender man tighter, trying to pull him closer, and Keiji felt wet warmth trail down his own cheeks, and pain, strong enough to knock him off his feet if he would have been standing, traverse his heart.

He thought about how different everything could have been… A life with Bokuto, travelling alongside him, feeling protected by his strength at the same time as he protected his companion’s back. A life with Bokuto, discovering new places with him, or getting to see old ones from a different perspective. A life with Bokuto, seeing him smile at anything, with him, for him… A life with Bokuto…

Just a life with Bokuto.

His heart, his brain… his very soul hurt as he thought about all of that, and he let the tears fall, knowing that there was nothing left to do. But it still felt immensely painful, because he wanted… he wanted that life. _He wanted to live._

The silence stretched for a while between them, Bokuto rubbing his nose over Keiji’s hair and kissing it softly from time to time, sniffles sometimes breaking through the air, and Keiji just breathed and wept silently, taking in the warmth irradiating from the owl-like man’s body pressed against his back.

He was starting to feel sluggish, and, soon, he felt as if there weren’t any tears left to shed inside his body. He lifted his heavy eyelids, nothing but darkness and irregular outlines falling under his gaze, and tried to free one of his hands from Bokuto’s painfully gentle grip. The man behind him straightened up a little, probably surprised by his sudden movement, but took away his hand nonetheless. Keiji mustered as much strength as he could to lift up his hand and cup Bokuto’s cheek into his palm, he tilted his head back and to the side to dive into Bokuto’s deep wells of shining gold. Keiji smiled, taking in the beautiful sight.

“Koutarou… Your eyes…” Keiji breathed, feeling his arm falter, and Bokuto pressed his palm against the back of Keiji’s hand it to keep it in place.

“K-Keiji…?” His voice was broken, and unstoppable tears fell down his cheeks and onto Keiji’s. Keiji realized Bokuto’s tear-streaked skin was soft and smooth and beautiful… Just as Bokuto’s entire being was.

“Your eyes are beautiful… Like the sun…” He whispered weakly.

The sun he’d longed to see for so long.

Keiji’s last breath escaped through his parted lips, a smile forever imprinted on his lips.

 

 

_If you live…_

_I want to live for you…_

_And for myself too_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you _so very much_ for reading until the end.   
>  This... was a very difficult thing to write, because there were many things that I _wanted_ to say through it, but didn't know _how_ to say... Thankfully, [Onsla](http://onlyslash.tumblr.com) agreed to revise this for me, and help me out with everything that was making me nervous.   
>  So thank you, Onsla, thank you, reader, for your love and support. I can't really say "I hope you enjoyed reading this", but I really hope that you found this idea interesting. Thoughts and comments about this final chapter, or the idea in general, are always welcome <3

**Author's Note:**

> New tumblr URL: kuroosthighz


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